Agave Kiss

“You just need to call, any of you,” I said huskily.

“I know,” Booke said. “I did. And you came.”

His obvious gratitude and affection warmed me. I patted his leg because it would be a bad idea to strangle-hug the driver while the vehicle was in motion. Our journey ended at a large tan brick building with a giant red and yellow sign that proclaimed WONDER LANES on it. If that hadn’t clued me in, the black ball and white pins depicted below would’ve done the trick.

Staring incredulously, I asked, “The arcane library is in a bowling alley?”

“Would you come here to learn the secrets of the universe?” He raised a brow.

“You’ve got a point.” The people I’d known who bowled certainly weren’t on quests for enlightenment. They were there to hang out, have fun, drink some beer, maybe eat a pizza, no chance of them stumbling through a hidden door, unless they were drunk and looking for the bathroom.

I figured gifted secrets were concealed better than that. “Does Twila run this place?”

“She runs the whole state of Texas. So the short answer is yes. But she doesn’t manage the library personally.”

“She must have her fingers in a lot of pies,” I said.

“You’ve no idea.” He paused, as if wondering whether he should tell me something. Then he came to a decision. “I suppose there’s no harm. I know you’ve been worried about me, but you truly shouldn’t be. You see, I’ve agreed to step in as the curator at the library here . . . when my sabbatical ends.”

“That’s the deal you made with her?” Learning the truth was a big load off my mind. But I had questions. “You won’t be forced to live there, will you? I mean, it’s not like exchanging one magickal prison for another?”

“No,” he answered, laughing softly. “It’s an employment contract. While it’s true that it doesn’t end until Twila deems my debt repaid, this will be a job, not an incarceration. I’m free to live as I choose when I’m not on duty. Obviously, that necessitates my relocation to San Antonio, but I don’t mind. I’m quite weary of Stoke.”

“Then you must be pretty excited, getting to see the place for the first time.”

“I am, rather. The librarian who’s been running the place for the last twenty years has nearly squared her account with Twila, so I’m queued up to take her place.”

“You don’t draw a salary, I guess?”

“Of course not. But once I resolve my identity crisis and claim my inheritance, I’ll be fine. And I have some other irons in the fire, financially speaking.”

I studied him, impressed with his fortitude and resilience. “You’re amazing. Not many could endure what you have.”

“Loneliness and introspection made me a better man,” he admitted. “I had no choice but to own my role in the mess my life had become. Of course, after that I went a bit mad for ten years or so . . . but I got better.”

I grinned as I climbed from the car and opened my arms to Butch. “Monty Python.”

“Yes, I caught sketches on the Web. By the time they were new to me, they were old to the world. So odd, that. I had such a limited window to learn and experience anything.”

“It’ll be different from now on.”

Working in the library didn’t sound like a bad job, especially for an intellectual like Booke. He might even find it fascinating, and on the plus side, he got to go home at the end of the day. Presumably, there would be weekends off, a chance to travel around Texas, see the sights, and have sex with lots of women who couldn’t resist the accent. That picture of his prospects made me smile.

“Let’s go see what my future holds, shall we?”

Yet knowing Kel was out there, buying time, at such personal cost, knowing that the punishment for his escape might be death this time, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. I felt as though in pursuing a ritual to bring Chance back, I was abandoning Kel. Regardless, I had made my decision in Sheol. No matter how much it hurt, this time, it wouldn’t change.

Squaring my shoulders, I stowed Butch in my bag, shouldered it, and followed Booke. My stick made no sound against the pavement due to the rubber tips on the bottom, but it steadied me. Eventually the Englishman noticed I couldn’t keep up with his long strides and he slowed his pace to match mine. I had constant pain in my leg; part of me wondered if it was permanent, and if the injury would end up being for nothing if Kel got himself killed playing bait. But that was dark and desperate thinking. I couldn’t permit such ideas to take root. Without hope, I had nothing.

Booke strode confidently toward the building and pushed open the doors, which took us into a real bowling alley. This time of day, there were a few people using the lanes, some bored waitresses filling plastic cups of beer. The place smelled simultaneously dusty and alcoholic with a soupcon of sweaty feet and oregano. He led the way past the shoe rental and the snack counter; nobody was interested in our business. When he opened a maintenance closet door, I thought he had to be kidding.

But nope, he pushed it open, stepped in, and beckoned to me to follow. Shrugging, I closed the door behind me, which prompted him to jiggle one of the shelves, and a secret door opened; the whole unit moved to reveal cement steps leading down.

“Is this safe?” I asked. “Couldn’t the janitor find that by mistake?”

“Not unless he has one of these.” Booke showed me a token with Twila’s personal insignia branded on it.

“Ah, so this is magickally secured as well as hidden.”

“Yes. Come along.”

Marveling at how weird reality could be, I followed him.

Mystifying Secrets of Mystery

No lie, the library had been built beneath a bowling alley. But it had the charm of a historical building, despite the subterranean locale. The shelves were burnished mahogany, filled with books that looked incredibly old. Overhead, the noise from the bowling alley wasn’t audible, which meant the walls were extremely thick . . . or that the spell securing the place also incorporated some soundproofing.

There were a few other patrons paging through tomes at a couple of tables nearby. Booke spared them no attention; instead he made straight for the desk he would presumably occupy in just under a year’s time. His predecessor was a slim woman in her early fifties with retro tortoiseshell glasses and smooth silver hair, styled in an elegant bob. She wore a good gray suit and a string of quality pearls. The pawnshop owner in me immediately appraised them. Yeah, they’d fetch a nice price.

“Twila didn’t mention you’d be stopping by today,” the woman said coolly. Her accent was hard to place at first, and then it came to me—Boston. Not Southie, but subtler, the vowels not quite as sharp. Between her appearance and her cultured tones, her whole presence spoke of moneyed antecedents.

“This is personal business,” he told her. “But it’s good to meet you, Ms. Devlin. I expect we’ll have a number of details to cover . . . another time. Are we free to access library resources?”

“Certainly. The books are available to all in good standing within Twila’s demesne.” Her eyes held a warning light, however.

Booke ignored the subtext. “Could you acquaint me with the filing system?”

While he handled our business with the curator, I wandered off to peruse the stacks. The tomes in here were impressive; some looked comical, as if they had been printed in someone’s garage as a joke. But I knew better than to dismiss something based on appearances. After all, you’d never guess by looking that my dog could talk.

I had read a few pages of The Baroness’s Cure for Intimate Ailments by the time Booke joined me. “She gave me a few leads, though she wants you to know she doesn’t approve of our endeavor.”

“I don’t care,” I said honestly. “I have one shot at this. One. If we don’t have the right ritual, or if something goes wrong? I’ll never see Chance again . . . and this kid won’t ever meet his dad.”

“I understand. Just be warned that such powerful spells always exact a price. You may not like the cost of